One Particular Harbor
by Lady Lorax
Summary: Sparrington AU. Jack is plotting. James is blushing. Ghost ships are sailing. Ana is getting folks drunk. Chickens are blowing in the wind...Welcome to Key West.


A little bit of hurricane fic that blew in last night. Teaser, really, for something that's been nibbling for a while. I hope I can get to it soon...(but I REFUSE to abandon Ghost Story no matter how slow that bunny is.) Oh well. I've been told to try writing with both hands. Think I may try that.

* * *

It was getting late. The wind was beginning to pick up in earnest. The power was flickering. But _Four Sheets_ was still open. Of course. And they were going to STAY open, if Ana had anything to say about it. The plywood covering the dirty front windows proclaimed it in five foot tall orange letters for all of Duval Street to read. She had sent Cotton and Gibbs out with cans of spray paint that afternoon, and the place had been packed ever since.  
  
From his usual place at the bar, Jack waved his mug of rum towards the grimy TV screen over their heads, where a windblown reporter was giving the seven o'clock advisory and warning motorists to be careful of debris and chickens. "Turn that down, would you? Gettin on my nerves."  
  
Grinning, Ana stopped her perpetual glass-polishing long enough to reach up and mute the set. "Getting a little late, isn't it, Cap'n? Not sure Jim'll approve of havn to come out to round you up. Again."  
  
The sharp-eyed, sharp-faced pirate of a man she knew so well gave her the knowing grin she knew even better. "He'll just have to deal with it, won't he? Lad's not my mother. Got a job waitin for me. But a man can't be out in that mess without a lil' something to stiffen the spine, hm?" He cheerfully swirled his mug. "An I'm sure he'd want me to tell you not to call'm Jim."  
  
She ignored that. "You going out? Tonight? In that? _Loco._"  
  
"When else?" Jack's gold teeth winked cheerfully under the dim bar lights.  
  
Ana leaned over the counter, letting her dishcloth drop. "You're not still after that damn ship, Jack? You have to know by now it ain't nothing but stories."  
  
Jack knocked back another gulp of rum. "I know nothing of the sort."  
  
She shook her head. "She's not out there, Jack. It's impossible."  
  
"Improbable."  
  
"Ah?"  
  
"Improbable," Jack repeated. "You know very well what my views on that word are, luv. _Improbable._" He held her eye for a long moment, long enough for her to remember all the more improbable moments of their days sailing together. She nodded. "Aye-aye, Cap'n."  
  
"Good girl."  
  
"I still think this ship story of yours is bullshit."  
  
Jack grinned. "Fair enough." He handed his glass to Ana for a refill. "Bullshit an impossible are two totally different words."  
  
She shoved a fresh mug across the bar to him, all set to give her opinion of Jack's grammatical expertise, when the door jingled open and one very soggy apparition blew in, along with a bushel of damp drag show flyers and a chicken.  
  
Ana backed away from Jack, giving him her best _You're in for it now, Buster_ look. Calmly picking up a new glass to buff, she ordered, "Wipe yer feet, okay Jim? And someone get that chicken out of here."  
  
A muffled voice ordered, "Don't call me Jim."  
  
Jack lurched around on his stool and raised his glass to tall man struggling to untwist his sopping poncho in the doorway. "Jamie!! Come have a drink, lad, you look a mess."  
  
"THANK you, Jack, ever so much." James Norrington, Key West P.D., finally managed to get his dripping hood out of his face, and spit out a mouthful of wet leaves. "Honestly, don't you people know the meaning of the word 'evacuation'?"  
  
"I know the meaning of 'big wad of cash.'" Ana grinned around at her full house. "They're very NICE words."  
  
"Ana..." James approached the bar scowling. "You need to shut down. You're violating curfew, you're endangering the lives of everyone in here..." an impatient wave at Jack, who was watching him with his chin propped on one fist, "...and THIS idiot does not need to be any more drunk than he is."  
  
"I. Am. Not. Drunk." Jack declared, in the carefully pronounced tones of the rather drunk.  
  
"You're always drunk," Ana informed him, ignoring James. "When you're on land, anyway. And at sea. And other locations, besides..."  
  
"You don't know the half of it, sweetheart."  
  
Gibbs sauntered up next to her carrying a crate of fresh mugs and snickered. "Aye, pirate can't live on rum alone, lass. The bugger would have scurvy if it weren't for Tang."  
  
"Do shut up as well, Gibbs."  
  
Pausing in his attempt to grab the mug out of Jack's hand, James blinked in horror. "Good God, they don't still sell that awful stuff, do they?" Ana pointed at Jack and mouthed, "_Ebay_."  
  
Jack snapped, "That is a foul lie," and snatched his drink back. "Hands off. Now stop being a spoil sport, mate, and sit down and lemme buy you a drink. Or get your arse out the door and let us have ourselves a party in peace. Savvy?"  
  
"No, I don't savvy." James reached beneath his poncho and dragged out his wallet. Flipping it open to his badge, he held it aloft and shouted, "Listen up, everyone. Party is over. The premises is shut down as of now." A chorus of groans almost threatened to drown him out. "Everyone present is urged to _LISTEN UP, PEOPLE!!_ is urged to proceed to the nearest shelter..." His voice petered off as it dawned on him that no one was paying him any attention.  
  
"Allow me." Ana took hold of a mug and slammed it down on the counter so hard, James thought his ears would be ringing for a week. "**HEY!!!!!! OFF YER ASSES NOW!!!!!"**  
  
The power decided just then to give up completely.  
  
In the dim light filtering in through the door's small uncovered window, the crowd shuffled, cursing and grumbling, to its feet.  
  
James blinked. "Very nice trick."  
  
"Eh...you learn things."  
  
Shaking his head, he turned towards Jack's stool. "That means you t—"His empty stool. "Jack?"  
  
Ana cocked her head towards the door as it swung shut, cutting off another gust of wind. "I'd hurry up'n catch him, if I was you."  
  
James scowled at her. At the door. At the stool. At her again. Finally— "I am not his _mother_. If he wants to wander around in a hurricane pouting, that is his business. I have a job to do."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Immature idiot can go get himself drowned for all I care."  
  
"He sure can."  
  
"It's his damned funeral."  
  
"That's true." She clicked on the heavy-duty flashlight freshly dug out from under the register and handed it to him with a smile. He glared at it for ten full seconds before snatching it from her. In all the years that he'd been hauling drunks from her bar, she'd only heard him properly swear twice, not counting tonight. "Oh..._fuck_."  
  
"Well...no...the odds aren't lookin to be in yer favor just now." Even in the dark, she could watch him turn about seven shades of blush. These pastey English folks were just too entertaining. "Actually, I think pouting is gonna be the least of your worries tonight, Jim."  
  
-TBC-

* * *

Last I read, Key West was having a serious problem with chickens. The things were breeding so fast they were overrunning the island and driving the locals so insane, they had to hire an official chicken catcher. Am I the only one who finds this bloody fantastic?  
  
P.S. My Ana tends to mutter in Spanish. If I butcher it too bad, feel free to scold me. 


End file.
